


Ernard Cadash, the King of Orzammar

by GrumpkinVicky



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Attempted self mutilation, Crack, Foul Language, M/M, skirts canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:01:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27182152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrumpkinVicky/pseuds/GrumpkinVicky
Summary: Imagine if you will, a world where the Matriarch of the Cadash Carta switched out a young Bhelen with someone who looked just like him. Now imagine in this world that young Ernard also had an understudy that the Shaperate knew about to allow King "Bhelen" his jollies, and while he was on his jollies, Ernard did other jobs for Grandmother. Including infiltrating the conclave. This is his story.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3





	Ernard Cadash, the King of Orzammar

Ernard woke up in chains. It was not the first time he’d found himself like this, and going from previous history nor would it be his last. Humans, though, that was different. 

His body ached, but that also was nothing new, he’d overworked trying to ferret his way in. He’d not had to work so hard for a long while, trust him to play cards with Mal and hope to win. She’d kill him. She’d absolutely kill him. As his shoulders, well he’d be off to see a nice man about a good neck massage as soon as he absconded.

The ringing in his ears was his excuse for the poorest decision he’d made in the last year. “ _Atrast vala_ ,” if in doubt speak archaic dwarven at humans and pretend not to know common.

“Partha,” the redhead responded. Right, if in doubt pretend to be mute, Mal was going to skin him alive.

“Well, shit.” Too late now, he knew very little archaic dwarven, and she understood him. Next plan, co-operate until freedom. Which worked really well, not. 

Nothing he liked better than trying to follow tall humans when bound and then watching as they forgot to give him a weapon when going into a fight. He’d also tried the “ARGH the sky - it’s so big hold me down so I don’t float off into it,” but no one had bought it. 

“Drop it,” he was already fond of her, a real Mal at heart. All he’d done was try and help out, by picking up a nice big sword and slashing at the things attacking her. He could have gotten away free if he’d left her to die, granted he’d still have needed to outrun the things but still.

“Look a thing,” she’d spun, and he’d hidden the dagger he’d pinched under his shirt, before dropping the two-hander.

Humans.

“Oi!” an elf was trying to take him by the hand. “None of that, I ain’t shaved my back yet, go find a tree to hump,” that was a great one. Elves, so easy to offend.

Turned out his hand was special, which was worth noting. 

“I’m-” his fellow dwarf had gone to introduce himself. 

“No, don’t tell me, I never forget a name,” he did know this one, from a job, in the place about the thing. The human was grinding her teeth, and the elf mage was doing the hairless thing, he didn’t trust anything that hairless. 

“Carta?” 

“Nah, I’m King Bhelen, you know, out tossing it with the scum and the sun-touched to show my face.” The dwarf stopped for a brief moment before carrying on.

“This way.” Nah he wasn’t interested in clambering over some fence. Not when there was a perfectly adequate - oh corpses. Coin, some rope he’d managed to shove in under his belt without them seeing. First things first, dump the taggers on, find Mal, disappear for a bit. Antiva should be nice this time of year.

“We need to go,” the elf was busy glaring at him.

“Yeah, yeah, we do. Anyone got anything to munch on? Feeling a bit faint, you know us Royal bastards, always eating, always…” he ducked as another big rock fell from the sky. “Someone should do something about that,” and not him.

The burning house had food in it, not great food but enough to stash some and eat some. All he needed was warmer clothing and he’d be good to go. Where did Mal say she’d meet him? The far end of the village in an abandoned shack. Back the other way, but he could slip down the ridge and shake them in the middle of the first fight he could.

“Garric?” Davri hired them to check up on his rival, the old bastard didn’t trust his fair wife, with good reason. “No, Harric? Barric?” 

“Barric?” the dwarf looked insulted.

“Some of my best friends are called Barric.” The human was trying to encourage him to go further up the hill, but he was busy trying to find some warm clothes. Who thought fighting in rags was a great idea? Elves and humans. That said Parric had his chest out like he was at a club so… Maybe it was just this place, full of idiots.

More coin, the human had moved to grab him by his collar.

“Hey now, I’m royalty, don’t touch unless you want us to wed,” he could see her knuckles whiten.

Booze. He liked booze, plenty of it. He’d have offered it around, but his arm was being to ache a lot, and he’d need it for the next thing he did.

“Uh, so mages can heal right?” The only useful thing they did according to Mal.

“That is an interesting question-” The elf started to ramble. Great a real academic here.

“If I was to be cut, you could heal it, right?” Carric was giving him a suspicious look.

“I have some skill to do so-”

“Great, I need a slash, back in two,” that’s all he needed to know, he’d seen a stump behind the burning building. While he’d normally consider removing a limb from himself, well he’d done it to others plenty of times. 

“I like peeing I really do,” he sang loudly, leaving his blade in the fire as he tied off some of the rope around his elbow, this was going to hurt like an absolute bitch, but it was cut it off or let it kill him.

“I drank lots, piss, piss, piss,” the blade wasn’t as heated as he’d like, but he could hear them chuntering behind the other side. He’d be out of time. 

One.

Two.

Three.

Deep breath, don’t close eyes because that’s how headless Darryl, went from Gangrene Darryl to Dead Darryl. 

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” The human screeched as he was about to bring the blade crashing down on his arm.

After that, she wouldn’t let him out of her sight. 

“I will happily do as the Chancellor says, he’s a very intelligent man,” because he fancied his chances a lot more trying to escape a bunch of soldiers than the harpy he was currently stuck with. Yet again did they listen to the dwarf? No, because humans never listen to dwarves. 

Mountain was the easier choice because tunnels meant easy getaways from evil harpies who wanted his blood. He’d managed to siphon off quite a bit of coin, and a couple more weapons hidden in his boots thanks to lax soldiers.

“So King Bhelen, are you called anything else?” Darric asked him, he’d been asking him all sorts of questions. 

“Davri,” there was a look of fear that passed momentarily.

“I don’t believe you.” But he wasn’t sure, and that was good enough for Ernard.

“I’ll pass on best wishes to Bianca,” ha, the face on him. “Oh you guys can head back down, it should be free - in fact, I can escort you being that I am King Bhelen.” The woman didn’t let him take a step as the scouts scurried off.

“You are becoming quite proficient with the -”

“Yeah, it’s pretty easy. I don’t understand why so many mages go bad if they just do this,” it was completely worth it to see the elf’s face go to thunder. “Don’t worry, I’ll let you have it to play with the first minute I get.” He did not like the hungry expression on the Mage at all. 

Mal was right. Act mute, faint, kick snow/mud/dust/rocks in their faces and run like the wind. The fuck were they wanting him to do here. The giant bloody thing in the sky kicking up a storm of shit. Yeah, he was in the wrong place, he’d have to fix that sharpish. Antiva was north, he was pretty sure going off the mountains he could make his way there without a guide.

“Close it.” The woman growled at him. She’d not forgiven him for disappearing off for another slash as they’d tried to make him go down into the pit of not good shit.

“You close it.” Mal would be proud of that one. Oh to be back in the bar, playing the hand again. She’d cheated, she must have done. Or he’d been too distracted by the pretty barkeep who kept stretching to reach the top shelf with his shirt lifting to expose the bottom of his back with the very interesting tat that looked like it went further down. Yeah, that’s how she’d won. It’s how they’d gotten him to stand underneath the big glowing thing. 

“King Bhelen, you need to do it,” Tarric was tapping his wretched crossbow. 

“Did you tell Bianca about you and the Champion,” he remembered the job properly. Mal had bitched about how long they’d had to be in Kirkwall when they’d both had interests in Orlais instead. Well, Mal’s was in Orlais, his was very much in Antiva. He loved Antiva, definitely the place to head to after all of this.

“Carta,” a bolt went off next to his feet, he’d definitely got to the man.

“You may call me your Royal Highness.”

“ENOUGH!” The human was having a hissy fit. 

“IS IT ENOUGH NOW???” as a bloody huge thing was chasing him around while he tried to dodge its attacks. Who thought giving huge things bloody weapons was a sound idea.

“CLOSE IT!”

“YOU FUCKING CLOSE IT!” he jumped over the sprawled body of a soldier who tripped, the bloody menace of a woman went to shield them and not him! 

“CLOSE IT NOW!” 

“IT’S FUCKING CHASING ME!!!!!” He hated Mal so fucking much at this point. Never again. 

The cackle from the bloody thing followed by the crash as it’s thing hit metal. He had time. Fucking arm, close close close close close. 

A loud crash, he didn’t look back, because he knew how to fucking live. Instead, more of the bloody things had appeared, little ones from before. He could deal with that.

“It’s getting up!” Archer shouted from above, from the safety out of the pit of death.

“Thanks for nothing!” as an arrow went flying passed his face.

“You need to close it again,” the elf was shouting at him.

“Bit busy,” running for his life again. It was like everything was out to get him.

He leapt over some more bodies before seeing a soldier with a nice big axe. “You! Cut on two!” 

“DON’T!” the harpy screamed as the soldier looked confused.

“I throw it to the mage and he uses it to CLOSE THE FUCKING THING AS HE THINKS ITS SO FUCKING EASY!” Ernard hadn’t had to run this much since he was pickpocketing in the Shaperate.

Shit, he’d barrelled into more of the damn things. It was turning into a family get together the number of weapons in play. Duck, dodge, run, roll roll roll.

“NOW!” The HARPY bellowed as he managed to hide behind a large bit of human, closing it was not any fucking easier. He’d be well rid. 

“ATTACK!” he had a moment to breathe - which was a mistake, the smell of shit was strong, but it was better than his own blood at this point. Oh, it was axeman, well, if he’d cut when asked maybe he’d still be with them.

The cackle. It was his time to shine, oh shit, he looked up to see the thing directly above him. He did something he would never admit to Mal, he climbed its leg, so it hit itself. She’d be making jokes about he was always a size queen.

He was going to die, thinking about Mal calling him a size queen.

This was his life.

Fuck that barkeep.

He had.

But fuck him.

Scrambling up it’s back was working though, he’d claim this was the plan, as the thing kept hitting itself trying to get him. And then it went down, and he rode that bad boy like it was his bitch.

They didn’t even let him bask in the glory of defeating the biggest fucker he’d ever fought, barring that grandmother of the so-called pure smith’s son. 

“Close it!” the elf didn’t know any other words.

Shit, something was dripping down his arm. That was blood, that was a lot of blood.

“Shit, he’s hurt,” no shit Larric. Someone slapped a bandage on his arm like that would work, not that amount of blood. It would need a potion, and he wasn’t prepared to drink the only one he had left, because it would make him highly susceptible to talking and not being able, to tell the truth from lies. Mal would carve out his heart with a rusty spoon and make him eat it.

“I can’t believe I am about to say this, Your Royal Highness, please can you close the breach?” Narric knelt down in front of him as the elf was busy casting ice at his arm. Mages, all about the casty cast cast.

“By order of royal decree, I claim the sky as mine!” he did his best because he could feel blood dribbling down his back as well, yeah he wasn’t going to survive this. “Also I could do with a drink,” he really could. The strongest horse piss to numb his body as he sank into death.

A flask in one hand and his arm stretched up in the other, he pulled from both. Swallowing down the firey pain like he was drinking the stone damned fire shots at the same place he’d sealed his fate. 

Fuckers. Absolute fuckers the lot of them.


End file.
